


Older, But Not Wiser

by iwritetragediesnotsin



Category: Spy School - Fandom
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Professors, CIA, F/M, Harvard University, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22790026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritetragediesnotsin/pseuds/iwritetragediesnotsin
Summary: Professor Benjamin Ripley is a professor the math department at Harvard University. He's grown up- logical, cool, & calculating. He's given up on most of his childish dreams, one being a spy. He tends to stay out of things, not wanting to get his hands messy. But what happens when a beautiful woman in a suit drops out of his ceiling and demands that he hide? What if the most dangerous terrorist group on the continent is after him, and he may just need to be trained to deal with it.
Relationships: Erica Hale/Ben Ripley, Zoe Zibbell/Mike Brezinski
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	1. Professor Ripley

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thezestywalru](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thezestywalru).



> So, this is my first Spy School story on this website. I just have a few things to make clear:
> 
> THIS IS AN AU: Ben was never recruited when he was 12, nor was anyone else. This means that everything that he helped prevent happened- they blew up the Starbucks next to the white house, none of the moles at the school were figured out. 
> 
> THEY ARE ADULTS: Ben is a professor at Harvard: It takes approximately 8.2 years to get a PHD, but he'll be 27 in this. Erica will be 29. She has been a Spy for the past 12 years. 
> 
> YES, I AM BERICA TRASH: I hope to establish a good basis for a relationship between the two. 
> 
> YES, I HAVE LEARNED HOW TO BREAK HEARTS: I learned this through reading and crying over Les Mis, PJO, and specifically Agent Benjamin Ripley by @thezestywalru on Wattpad. 
> 
> I HAVE NEVER ATTENDED A COLLEGE CLASS: I am going off of what I know and what I can find online. 
> 
> PLEASE KEEP YOUR COMMENTS KIND: I do not expect many views, but I have noticed that there are quite a few fanfics for Spy School on this site. I hope that you all will give constructive criticism.

The professor sighed as he stared at the seemingly endless problem on the board, glancing back at the lethargic 20 year olds behind him. He ran his hand down his face and began to mark it up on the green board with white chalk. The scratching continued for several minutes, until he placed the chalk down. Spinning around, he carefully fixed his jacket and brushed his hair back.

"We are going to be discussing the Riemann Hypothesis." Professor Benjamin Ripley walked back and forth as he began to explain. He had only been teaching at Harvard University for a year at this point, but he was considered one of the brightest young minds in the math community.

“Today’s mathematicians would probably agree that the Riemann Hypothesis is the most significant open problem in all of math. It’s one of the seven Millennium Prize Problems, with a million dollar reward for its solution. It has implications deep into various branches of math, but it’s also simple enough that we can explain the basic idea right here." He erased the equation, beginning to write a small problem on the board. He turned around again, making eye contact with the kids in the front row. "

You see, for each s, this function gives an infinite sum, which takes some basic calculus to approach for even the simplest values of s. For example, if s=2, then 𝜁(s) is the well-known series 1 + 1/4 + 1/9 + 1/16 + …, which strangely adds up to exactly 𝜋²/6. When s is a complex number—one that looks like a+b𝑖, using the imaginary number 𝑖—finding 𝜁(s) gets tricky." He smiled, looking up at the people sleeping in the back row. He had regretted the 8 am class too. Usually Ben wouldn't have been caught dead in a hoodie and sweatpants for teaching, but he had slept through his alarm. In fact, there were people older than Ben himself in his class, and he typically wore a blazer jacket to seem older than his 28 years. 

"This equation is so tricky, in fact, that it’s become the ultimate math question. Specifically, the Riemann Hypothesis is about when 𝜁(s)=0; the official statement is, “Every nontrivial zero of the Riemann zeta function has real part 1/2.” On the plane of complex numbers, this means the function has a certain behavior along a special vertical line. You can see this in the visualization of the function above—it’s along the boundary of the rainbow and the red. The hypothesis is that the behavior continues along that line infinitely." He yawned, covering it with one hand, smiling when he finished. Then, he began to let some of the students up to the chalk board to try and solve it. He didn’t expect any results, knowing that they were only bachelor’s students, taking a math class usually for the credits. He glanced up to the slowly ticking clock. Thankfully, it was nearly 11, almost time for the class to be over. Straightening up, he wrote a date on the board. 

“You have a 6,000 page essay detailing an unsolved problem due in 2 months. The syllabus is being passed around.” The murmurs echoed down to him, and he raised an eyebrow at some of the grumblings. Raising his voice but continuing his stoic guise, Ben shouted to the back.

“It's the second semester. This is nothing new, people. Have a good day.” They filed out, chatting about inane things, he was sure. As soon as the door to the lecture hall slammed shut, Ben let his tough facade drop. Slumping down in one of the front row seats, he groaned, hitting his head against the desk. 

“Stupid…” He cursed himself and his big mouth. He shouldn’t have lost his temper. He sat there for some time, and when he finally looked up, the slow clock that ordered him around had turned twenty minutes after eleven. The vents overhead made a strange sound, almost like someone was in there. Ben gave the ceiling an odd look, praying that it wasn’t some adventurous and prankster student. Shaking it off, he walked over to his desk and grabbed his messenger bag and winter coat. 

He shivered as the snow bit at his nose. Boston winters happened to be his worst enemy, but he was glad he didn’t live somewhere worse. His phone rang, and Ben’s frozen fingers fumbled for his phone. He grinned. 

“Hey, Mike.” 

“Ben! My man!!! How’s winter?” Ben chuckled ruefully, opening the door to his regular coffee shop. 

“You're the one who called me. Plus, you don’t need to rub in the fact that you live in Australia now.” He gestured his greeting at the barista, Zoe, who smiled back at him with a warm and healthy flush to her cheeks. Sitting down at the booth near the window, Ben leaned back, unbuttoning his trench coat and taking off his hat. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay. You got a girlfriend yet?” Ben groaned good-naturedly, resting his forehead in his right hand. “No, I don’t Mike. I’m not looking either. My options aren’t great either. It’s either-” Mike interrupted him in a mimicked and mocking voice. 

“ _Date a student or date a colleague, none of which are my age_. C’mon, dude, you know that’s a load of bull. You could get any girl you want. Go to some parties, have some fun. You’re too uptight.” Ben frowned, but he couldn’t deny it was true. Mike had used the same excuse throughout junior high and high school. But being so-called ‘uptightness’ had gotten him where he was. He was too afraid of losing what respect he had worked so hard to gain, so he told Mike as much. 

“Like I said, man, you can get any girl you want. You know you’re hot stuff. Even Elizabeth Pasternak said she had a crush on you in high school. Hey, what about that coffee chick? Chloe?” Ben shook his head ruefully before realizing that Mike couldn’t see him. 

“Her name is Zoe. I’ll think about it. Talk to you later, Mike.” “Don’t forget about me, bro! Love ya too!” Ben chuckled at his friend's ending statement, but he sobered up when the dial tone from his phone ringing in his ear reminded him that he was alone. 

“Mike again?” Zoe asked, bringing over the flat white that Ben always ordered. He smiled at her, handing over his customary crisp ten dollar bill and gesturing for her to keep the change. She smiled, folding it into one of the large apron pockets emblazoned with the cafe's logo.

"Why is it that people who can’t take advice always insist on giving it?” He asked. She squinted at him before laughing. “You made a James Bond reference!” She said, her apron jostling as she laughed. Ben thought about what Mike had mentioned about Zoe. She was pretty, sure, more than a foot smaller than him at 4’11”, with sharp green eyes and long wavy blonde hair. They were about the same age too, but he had never thought of her like that. She always seemed to be smiling or laughing. Ben smiled at her and she blushed again. 

"Mike trying to get you to date again?" She sat down at the booth.

"Don't you have to work?" Zoe waved his raised eyebrow away.

"Please, Ben. It's almost my lunch. You're one of three people eating here, and the other two have been served." Ben glanced around. It was true, the shoppe was nearly empty, only an exhausted looking man with stained clothing guzzling coffee and a college-aged girl that he recognized from one of his earlier classes. Ben winced, thinking back to how loud he must have been talking to Mike.

"Yeah, he's getting on my case again."

"I mean, if you're looking for someone to go out with, I'd be happy to-" Zoe turned pinker and pinker as she fiddled with her fingers, not making eye contact. Ben tilted his head, confused. He was good at math, not much with understanding women. Unfortunately, he interrupted her.

“Thanks, Zoe. I don’t know what I’d do without your amazing flat whites.” He drained the mug, hopping up and glancing at his watch. Cursing, he buttoned up his trench and grabbed his briefcase. Handing her his business card, Ben winked. “I have to dash. Feel free to text me.” Ben quickly dashed out of the cafe, his coat billowing behind him as he placed his hat carefully on his head. 


	2. Agent Erica Hale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erica is introduced, she's extremely confused and we find out what everyone looks like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am an ace disaster, but I did my best to stir up romantic feelings. Geez, Erica.

Erica cursed as she bumped her knee on the side of the metal shaft. Peering through the slots in the vent cover, she examined her target. He had dashed in a minute before, muttering something about papers. Professor Benjamin Ripley was tall, over six feet, with skin the color of cream. His hair was a light brown, with blonde and auburn streaks that lit up when the light hit it right. He was handsome, sure, looking the part of a spy. She grumbled, wondering why they sent her of all people to find this newbie. Pulling up her wrist device, she checked her copy of the case file again. 

OPERATION SMOKESCREEN: The banner read. She frowned, looking through his info again. How was she going to approach this? Should she use Zibbell’s coffee shop or pretend to be a student? Crackling came from her ear piece, and she tapped it a few times to get the signal back. 

“Ice Queen, are you there?” Her grandfather’s voice filtered through. She gave a small smile and replied with her acknowledgement. 

“When are you going to nab the guy? I know he’s good looking, but don’t just lay there staring at him.” Erica scowled, scoffing at Cyrus Hale’s sarcastic and judgemental tone. Flustered, she tried to reconnect her brain with her mouth as she stuttered for a minute. 

“I-I-I wasn’t-”  
“Too late, he’s already gone.” Cyrus drawled. She winced at the feedback and the acidic bite of disappointment in her grandfather’s voice. “Just tell me you have the information you were instructed to get.” 

Erica gulped back the phlegm that had gathered in her mouth and responded with an affirmative. Army crawling backwards, she dropped back out of the vent on the side of the college building, brushing off her black suit and drawing a pink coat over it. Walking over to the dingy van in the nearest parking lot, she rolled her eyes as she pulled open the door. Her father, Alexander Hale, had his feet rested up on the console. 

His salt and pepper hair was unkempt, and the first three buttons of his rumpled white shirt were unbuttoned. He was sipping on a tumbler that most likely contained gatorade, if not some variant of alcohol. She rolled her eyes. He didn’t even notice her entrance. Huffing slightly, she sat down at the other chair in the back, one that resembled a bar stool from one of the cliche 1950’s diners. Spinning to face the computer, she ignored her father’s surprised face as he fell off the chair. 

“E-Erica!” Alexander cried as he fell to the ground. He shrieked when he saw a strip of his own hair covering his eyes, brushing it back and straightening his impractical blazer. She typed quickly, entering the images she had gathered of the target and his classroom. As soon as she had finished, Erica turned around, her striking blue eyes showing how overworked she was, but her expression was impassive. 

“You look more like your mother every day.” Alexander smiled weakly. Erica shook her head, spinning back around. It was too much for her to expect her father to actually stay on topic and be competent for once. 

“I’ve noticed.” She drawled as her fingers flew across the keyboard. Erica became icier each day; soon she might have become ice herself. She had been a spy for eleven years, if only because of the family pressure, a looming legacy, and the fact that she didn’t know any other life. 

“Erica, sweetheart, what happened out there?” She spun around again, giving the smaller man a quick hello hug. 

“Hey, grandpa.” Cyrus Hale had been a spy since the second world war. A decorated agent, he was credited in having stopped the bay of pigs disaster. He shared the same ice blue eyes as his son and granddaughter, but his formerly ebony hair had turned a dark grey, similar to the steely grey of gunpowder. He was only seventy, but he moved like a man forty years younger. 

“Erica, we have a plan.” She nodded, her eyes hardening as she stood at attention. Twenty minutes later, Erica stood outside of Ben’s college apartments that a majority of the professors had the option of staying in. Gulping, she knocked at the door to his flat. When no one answered, Erica brought out a strange looking navy blue device that she placed on the doorknob. With a loud clunk that made her wince, the door unlocked, and creaked open on its bronze rusted hinges. 

Creeping into the small furnished apartment, Erica was first brushed with the aroma of banana bread. She hesitated, her left foot held up as she resisted the urge to place her hand down to balance herself. Looking around, she canvassed the flat, taking in the worn leather seats that mimicked a family room. However, only one was worn down and flattened in a particular way that showed a human imprint. 

She frowned, walking stealthily down the small hallway, past the kitchen counter to a bedroom. Photo frames littered the wall, and she stopped at a gathering of 3. One contained a smiling family, the focus being a smaller teenage boy with sandy brown hair and beaming brown eyes. He grinned up at the two people holding his shoulders, the background being the grand canyon. Clearly a family vacation. Erica smiled wistfully. 

Moving onto the next one, she examined the changes between the boy in the previous photo. He was older in this photo, by probably five or so years, around seventeen. His face had filled out, and he had his arms slung around a group of boys around him. The one next to him, however, with a laughing smile and blond hair caught her attention. He was definitely good looking, a ladies man. Erica could almost picture him trying to shoot his shot with a girl in the bar, and laughing when she rejected him. They looked like they were in their own little world, chortling at their troubles. 

The one next to them gave her pause. It was Ben, older, maybe college-aged. Around twenty, maybe. He was standing next to a tall girl of Asian heritage. Her silky black hair fell around her like a curtain as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. A heart embellished the frame. Erica blinked in shock as her face almost fell. 

Jessica and Ben: the frame read. Erica’s mouth twisted as she tried to place how she knew this girl. Sitting down in the leather seat, she kept looking back at the photo. The girl looked incredibly familiar. The door handle rattled, and she straightened up in her chair, her hand on her holster. The door swung open, and in one adrenaline filled movement, her heart pounding, Erica jumped up, raising her gun.

“Woah!” A man’s voice shouted, and she opened her eyes that had been squeezed shut. Breathing heavily, she lowered her weapon, holding out a hand. 

“Who in goodness name are you?!” The man yelled, and Erica looked him up and down, panting still. It was Ben, the boy from the photos. Just as she thought, he was tall, taller than her, with a trench coat still billowing from the bitter wind that rushed in from the open door. Trying to regain her confidence, she sat back down, crossing her legs.   
“Please do sit down, Benjamin.”

“How do you know who I am?” He sat down cautiously, placing his briefcase down on the ground. Removing his hat, he nearly took Erica’s breath away. Blinking and biting her lip, she looked down on the floor, reminding herself to keep her composure. 

“My name is Erica Hale,” She introduced herself. “I’m here from the CIA.”


	3. The Waltz of Rememberance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ben remembers his past relationship, thanks Mike for picking him off the ground, and takes a leap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, this is one spicy meatball. Should I be updating this story? No, I have to memorize a speech in the next two days. Anyone who was sent by Clár, thanks a lot, it means a bunch. Hope you guys enjoy it! Please feel free to comment and leave kudos. 
> 
> Also, with the ages, technically Ben was 11 when he was recruited into Spy School, because it was the beginning of 6th grade for him. Erica was 14/15. I always assumed there was only 2 years between them, but there's 4 (wut) by my math. That's a little weird for me, considering I have siblings that age and I would never date one of their friends. Gosh, but in this fic, they're 2 years apart. Ben, Zoe, Mike, Warren, and most of the gang are 27, but Erica, Murray, and a few others are about 28/29. 
> 
> Jessica is a tad (really) OOC, I guess. You won't see her much, other than vague mentions so far. I don't know if I'm going to bring her in, but I want to give more insight to Benny boy here and his bachelor lifestyle. Hope I break your heart!

Ben grumbled as he shut the door, the apartment turning eerily silent without the howling wind. Frowning, he shivered, looking at the business card in his hand. It was black, with gold print, almost holographic looking. That girl had been crazy, probably one of the sorority pledges who had been hazed into something. He rolled his eyes, wondering whether they were ever going to grow up. He twisted his mouth as he examined the business card. It looked like something normal, with her name and a few phone numbers. The back was plain as well.

"Erica Hale..." He read aloud, narrowing his eyes. A tingle of familiarity ran down in spine. Clearing his head, Ben dropped it into his trash bin by his nightstand. Flopping onto his bed, he sighed, running his hand over his face. Brushing his hair back, Ben sighed, rolling over to his left side. Why was it that students still thought it fine to prank him as if he was one of their peers? He didn't even recognise that girl- Erica. Her last name was peculiar, the same as the famous spy from the revolutionary war. Ben's thoughts were muddled as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened. 

His phone in his right pocket began to sing and vibrate, and squinting at the bright screen, he took in the unknown number. It was his area code, but he didn't recognize it. Racking his brain, Ben tried to remember if he had given out his number. He looked over at the bin with wide eyes. Clicking the green phone button quickly, he barked out a quick greeting. "Ripley."

A recognizably friendly giggle echoed out of the other side. "Hiya, Ben!" Ben relaxed marginally, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Hey, Zo. What's the news?" 

"Nothing! I just thought I'd call and make sure this wasn't a prank card." Ben laughed, messing up with own hair and almost melting into the mattress. 

"Speaking of pranks, you'll never believe what just happened to me..." Ben began detailing the weird visit and the woman - Erica, he reminds himself- breaking into his house. He talked and talked, and soon twenty minutes had passed. 

"Wow," Zoe snorted at his last joke. "A-Are you going to go to the... uh... police?" She sounded suspiciously worried. 

"Why are you concerned?" He teased, sitting up and catching a look at the clock. "Was she one of your friends that you sent after me to collect information?"

Zoe made an audible gulp. "You could say that..." 

He smirked and raised an eyebrow before remembering that she couldn't see him. "No more private eyes on my property, please! Well, it's been nice talking to you, but I have a class in two minutes." 

They bid each other goodbye before hanging up. Ben languidly straightened up out of bed, groaning as his back creaked. He skipped over to the mirror, newly energized. Worriedly brushing his hair back, he glanced over to his laptop before realising that none of his students wouldn't be able to see him. Running over, he spun into his chair and opened the program, typing furiously.

Once the equations and transcript of his lecture had been uploaded, Ben rested back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk and sipping from a half empty mug on his desk. Spitting out the bitter and cold coffee, he idly wondered to himself how old it was. Twisting his lips, he set it down and looked back at the screen, which was aflurry with comments and questions. Furrowing his brows slightly, Ben answered as much as he can before a name that he didn't recognise on his roster popped up on his screen. 

"Warren Reeves?" He questioned, looking through the sheet of paper he had next to him. Sure enough, whoever this 'Warren' was, he wasn't on the updated list. Ben frowned and wrote a reminder to himself to take it up with the head of the department. Maybe he had switched into Ben's class. 

-

Ben stared at the indecipherable note that he had written to himself last night. Some scribbled name. Why? The lecture hall began to fill up as he took off his coat and hat and laid out his laptop and notes in a habitual sort of dance. Smiling up at them, Ben adjusted his blazer and began describing the problem and the solution to the class. That was his motivation. Always logical. Things made more sense in math and in problems that could be solved. True, some didn't always have a perfect solution and some didn't have a solution at all, but he knew what to do in those instances. He was calm, cool, collected and respected when detailing mathematical trivia. 

A personal life? Forget about it. With the perpetual 'stay away from me' resting expression that Ben had tattooed on his face from years of practice, most people didn't even think about approaching him. Girls who did were either daredevils, stupid, drunk or drunk and stupid. Usually, he used the worn out excuse that he was still healing from his last relationship. It was true, still, even after two years and a broken proposal. Sighing, he put on a long video explaining unsolved mathematical equations as he began to get lost in the dance of his memories. 

Jessica Shang had been his college sweetheart, and she had held his heart for 7 years. Heiress to a mysterious company and the criminal underworld, she was the only person in their midterm project group during sophomore year who could keep up with his prolific brain and ideas. After a few weeks of teasing, he had finally worked up the courage to ask her out, sure that he would be rejected. 

"Really, Ripley?" She had laughed, not unkindly. His heart had sunk, but she had grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look her in the eyes. "It took you this long to ask me! I thought I'd have to do it myself because you didn't have the balls!" 

They had kissed then, in the whirling snow in the park beneath a bare tree. He had been sure that his face was going to break with his smile, but even then, his heart had told him that this was the girl who was going to break him. A whirlwind romance commenced, not six months later, he had introduced her to his parents, who heartily approved. His little sister, only a toddler at the time, had giggled and tugged at her hair, proving that she was already a part of the family. But after two years, the honeymoon face had ended, and he was still a man in love. He kept respecting her wish that he never meet her father, giving the same excuse everytime. 

Soon- after five years- at age 23, the fights had started. Suddenly, they became about everything and anything. He had wanted to get his PHD, but she insisted that a doctorate was enough to get him hired at any high school in the area where they had been living in their small and modest apartment. Ben hadn't wanted that, and suddenly the love of his life was holding him back from his greatest ambition, claiming that her father that he had never met would support them with an inheritance he hadn't been told about. She hadn't trusted him enough to let him know that she had money they could use, money that could have helped them when Ben was in the hospital with tuberculosis and had to take extra shifts to make up the thousand-something dollars hospital bill that his insurance wouldn't pay.

Ben had been a fool in love. A hurt fool? Yes, and a stupidly forgiving one at that. Suddenly, the fights became about marriage, children, living arrangements, and family expectations. They had been living together for four years, moving in on their two year anniversary, but now, the loveably small apartment had become cramped with guilt, fights, and a cloud lingered over their relationship. Ben had spent many sleepless nights on the couch, furiously working on his thesis or contemplating everything that she had said. Soon, his weight went down, and he resembled more of a skeleton than a man. At 6'2", Ben towered over his 5'3" girlfriend, who hadn't grown since the age of 14. She had begun to resent that fact, mocking him for his height, referring to him as "the tree" in public and making the cliché tall jokes. But Ben had been terrified. What if a fight went to far? What if she called the cops on him for a false call? She had been flinching at him, and he had begun doubting his own memory after seeing empty beer bottles on the nightstand in the cool guest room that he had been shoved into. 

She had finally given him an ultimatum. Give her a ring by the end of the year, or they were over. Ben scrambled for the funds, balancing his courses and three jobs to pay for a simple three carat ring. After all, wasn't she right? Who could love such a fool like him? He was too tall, too plain, too ugly for anyone other than her, who so graciously put up with him and his less than ideal lifestyle. Finally, on December 28, on their seventh anniversary, Ben proposed. It was romantic, and as she smiled at the modest jewel and then at him, he finally felt free. Tradition had been passed, without her father's blessing, but as they tried to set a date, the problems arose again. 

Her father refused to pay for the wedding, claiming that he was only after them for their fortune. Jessica had weeped to him, proclaiming their love over the phone in some asian dialect he was unfamiliar with- or at least, that's what Jessica had told him. She surlily applied for waitressing jobs to keep them afloat, as it was revealed that the so-called "office job" she had held was really weekly allowance from her father, most of which she used on herself while Ben worked three jobs. Then, one day, it all came to a head when Ben, exhausted from a three hour lecture that he attended and then two shifts at his minimum wage retail job, returned home to find Jessica packing. 

"I'm leaving." She had announced, not even daring to look him in the eyes. "I can't live in this dump anymore. I'm keeping the ring too."

Then she had left, Ben standing there, his world ceasing to exist around him. He had looked around at all the memories, had spent hours looking through the photos of the good times and crying over the bad, before he had finally worked up the courage to call the one person he knew he could trust. 

"Hey, Mike," He croaked. "I need help."

He had heard his best friend's smile over the phone. "Yeah, dude. You sure do."

-

"Professor?" A student waved a hand in front of his face. Ben blinked, looking up at him. 

"Yes, sorry. I was merely distracted for a moment." Shaking himself out of the waltz of long lost chances and love, he turned to his class. "I am not quite feeling myself. You are dismissed." They shuffled out, leaving him alone. His phone rang again. He looked down at his screen, a small smile lighting up his face as he took in the contact name and Mike's advice. 

"Hey, Zoe." He greeted her, resting his feet up on the desk and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand in a nervous gesture. "Listen, I was wondering if you'd like to grab lunch sometime. I've been thinking about getting out more." 

Beaming, Ben grabbed his coat and hat, making his way to the door. The vent made a noise, but he was deaf to it. Which was quite good, but if he had turned around, he could have spotted a strange chameleon in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've never attended a college lecture or an online college class. I'm going off of what I can find online. Also, this is 1943 words! What!?
> 
> Another thing is R.I.P.: Katherine Johnson (8/26/1918-2/24/2020) A true scientific inspiration to us all. If you don't know, she was one of a group of black women who helped calculate the equations to get America to space. She worked in NASA during the 1950s-1960s during which most of the country as segregated.


	4. The Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn more about Zoe, Erica, Murray and Warren, while they plan on how to convince Ben about Spy School.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, c'mon, you can't tell me that Zoe and Erica wouldn't become friends. Well, in this they are. It's my fic and you can fight me if you think Zoe wouldn't dig her way through Erica's frozen heart. Also, this is my headcanon about Erica's childhood. I don't think it's actually confirmed, but it makes sense that Cyrus raised her. Alexander is absent, Catherine is almost always in England, and Cyrus is retired so he's the only option. This also lines up with all the stuff that Cyrus has shown her, like the statue of liberty and how she knows things from young ages.

“Chameleon, checking in.” Warren hit the comm in his ear and a whistle of static and feedback rang in his head. He glared ruefully at the tall professor who was leaving. Why did he get Zoe’s attention? Sure, he was all tall, smart and handsome, but Warren had known her for longer, right? That had to count for something. 

“10-4, Chameleon!” Zoe’s voice crackled over the device and Warren smiled before remembering where he was. 

“Why am I the one doing this anyway?” He complained. “Make Murray do it!”

Zoe groaned, glancing over at the lump in the corner eating cheetos and then rubbing the powder all over the keys as he typed. Wincing, she responded to Warren, rolling her eyes at how immature he still was. 

“You know why I can’t do that. C’mon, you’re doing recon. It’s not that bad.” Warrens overly dramatic groans echoed from the walkie-talkie. Erica stalked into the dusty van, grabbing the device out of a shocked Zoe’s hands and responding with a quick snap.

“Get it together, Reeves.” 

“Y-Yes, ma’am.” Zoe could practically hear Warren straightening up to attention in the vent as he stuttered. No one messed with Erica- she seemed to radiate poise and danger- but Ben did. He somehow looked past, or perhaps stupidly did not notice, the aura of a snake that Erica had. She was tense, ready to strike, warning people not to get close to her with a single look of her ice cold eyes.

Erica was beautiful, and everything Zoe wished she could be. Like most of the other girls in the CIA’s Spy School, they had been jealous of Erica when they joined the academy. She had a family legacy, guaranteed position, beauty, a doting pair of parents and she had been training since she was born. However, when they attended a mission together in Colorado when Zoe had been twelve, a tentative bond had been formed between the two girls, and all her viewpoints of Erica’s world had been shattered. 

The Hale legacy loomed behind her. As the only child of two only children, she had no choice but to be a spy. It was either that or have her memory wiped when she was eighteen and spend her teenage years being mocked. Erica had always felt like she had to prove herself to everyone- to her family, to the CIA, and to the world, to prove that she was worthy, she was ready to be a spy. She was beautiful, sure, but it came at a price. Just like with regular boys, many only wanted to be with her for her beauty and job. 

Erica rejected them all, for she knew that they merely wanted her to climb the ladder. Her father, Alexander Hale, was a horrendous spy, and even worse of a father. Zoe detested the man, and tolerated him and his excessive habit of complimenting himself to his face for Erica’s sake. Her mother, Catherine Arnold Hale, was in England to escape from Alexander. She loved Erica, but due to the fact that she was high up in the British intelligence agency, MI6, they rarely got to see each other. Video calls were infrequent and quick, as to be expected when running from danger.   
Zoe remembered Erica’s 16th birthday. Alexander had forgotten it, later explaining it away by claiming he was saving the country of Barbados, and Catherine had missed her scheduled video call. Zoe had had to remedy her friend’s broken heart by trying to rally together a surprise party, but not many people were eager to show up, especially those who were terrified of Erica.

Erica had lamented about her childhood to Zoe more than once as well, her parents were absent, and she was mostly raised by her retired grandfather, Cyrus Hale, a former spy himself. Cyrus loved his granddaughter, but in his old age, he grew increasingly paranoid and came up with bizarre conspiracies. By the age of three, Erica had been trained by Cyrus to disarm someone of their weapons, because Cyrus was convinced that the Russians were going to break into their house and take them captive to test him on how to create the perfect spy. He was so sure that he decided that the only way to beat “the commies”, as he put it, was the toddler he was responsible for. 

They had finally become friends in Zoe’s second year during a covert expedition to Vail, Colorado. Erica had been the head of that mission, and for some reason that she still couldn’t explain, she had chosen Zoe to join her, as well as Warren. Warren was incredible at blending in and disguise, capable of fooling the most trained of spies with his trickery.   
However, he wasn’t very talented anywhere else. Just like while wearing his veils, Warren tended to blend in- he wasn’t as handsome as Chip, he was certainly not as smart as Erica, nor as charismatic as Zoe. 

“Zoe?” Erica called, and Zoe looked up and smiled. “What do you think we should do about Ben?”

Ben was another problem. Zoe smiled, sighing, and put her chin in her hand. 

“Thinking about Ben again?” Erica teased her in only the way that Erica could, with a small smirk. She swung into the chair next to her, glaring down at the keyboard. 

“Hill, you’re on clean-up duty!” She called. Murray yelled back something unintelligible. Shaking her head, Erica cocked an eyebrow at Zoe. “So, what’s lover boy like?”

“He’s sweet.” Zoe said. “I hope we can convince him soon.” Erica grinned, wearing a smug look and rolling her eyes to turn her focus back to the computer screen.

“I think we would have been good friends with him if he had joined the CIA the same year we did.” Zoe commented, reading the dossier once again. Erica scoffed. 

“Sure, and Warren is my fairy godfather. He didn’t seem that welcoming.” 

“You broke into his house and then drew your gun on him.” Erica frowned at Zoe’s meaningful look.

“You go on that lunch date then. Try and drop hints about the CIA. Don’t pretend it’s a pyramid scheme again.” Zoe snickered. Good times. “I’ll come in and introduce myself. Maybe with the two of us, he’ll believe it.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Zoe cautioned. “He still thinks that it was a prank-” Erica cut her off, pressing the side button of the walkie talkie.

“Reeves, out of the vents. We need some coffee stat.”


	5. Agent Zoe Zibell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ben and Zoe go on a "friend date", there is a shootout and Ben is taken into protective custody.

Ben was tapping his foot worriedly as he stared at the swinging glass door to the cafe. The cold wind bit at his nose each time the bell clanged. He had been sitting there for a quarter of an hour, and he checked his phone once more for the time. Maybe she had been caught up at work.   
“Sorry, Ben!” The door had swung open again, and Zoe slid into his booth with ease. He grinned at her and her face turned pink with a bashful smile. His right leg, crossed over his left was twitching as his foot moved back and forth.   
“No problem!” He handed over a steaming mug of hot chocolate. “I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and got you this.”

She scrutinized it before scrunching up her nose and giving him a playful look. “It’s not poisoned, is it?”

He chuckled as Zoe took a tentative sip. She immediately relaxed as the thick taste of chocolate and whipped cream hit her mouth. 

“So, I have something to ask you about.” Ben rested his elbows on the tabletop, leaning forward with a mischievous look on his face. Zoe copied his actions, setting the red mug down. They stared at each other impishly, Ben struggling not to laugh at the foam decorating her lip. Soon, with rosy cheeks and chuckling eyes, the pair burst out large guffaws. 

“M-Mustache!” Ben snickered, rubbing the tears out his eyes as the other people in the cafe gave them bothered and incredulous looks. Zoe, bright red and still giggling, wiped her upper lip. 

“You were saying?” He questioned her earlier statement. She tried to school her expression into that of mock seriousness. Ben copied her. 

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in an… organization of shorts that I’m part of.” He cocked an eyebrow, sipping on his coffee. 

“This isn’t a pyramid scheme, is it?” Zoe glanced warily over to a lady in the corner before quickly shaking her head. 

“Of course not-” She was interrupted by the door opening with a bang. A group of men rushed in in all black with masks, carrying guns and bags. Police sirens echoed up and down the streets, lamenting the crime that had just been done. 

“Hey there, pretty lady.” One of the masked figures grabbed the woman with black hair and ice blue eyes in the corner and placed a gun to her head. Strangely, she seemed unbothered, almost as if she knew nothing would happen. The woman winked at him and in a split second had the man on the ground. 

“Get down!” She shouted. “Reeves, you imbecile, help me!” The man with the greasy hair in the corner of the cafe who had been glaring at him bitterly got up and knocked the gun out of a man’s hands. Three more rushed the woman, and swiftly, she placed the safety on the gun before sliding it over to Zoe. Ben watched this all in silent amazement, unsure of exactly what he was witnessing. With a few grunts, there were only two of the original eight in the crew that were still standing. 

“I’ll take the one on the right.” She called to her partner, dispatching the man in black with a few well-placed kicks. The other man was not quite as fast when disarming his opponent. It took him a few more seconds, but soon, the room was littered with unconscious thieves. The woman had barely broken a sweat, and she turned to face him and Zoe, whose hand he had just strangled. 

“Could have used your help there, Zibell.” Zoe laughed, standing up from under the table. 

“Please, Erica. You didn’t need it.” Ben narrowed his eyes on the woman. She seemed familiar. His brain wandered back to the name on the calling card. 

“Erica Hale?” He questioned, standing up. The three of them, who had been whispering together in a huddle, gave him shocked looks. 

“Ben, uh, well…” Zoe seemed at a loss for words. All of a sudden, the sirens gave a final screech outside. They all shared a look and walked out, the man behind the megaphone instructing everyone inside to hold their hands above their head. 

“Identify yourself.” He barked. With a nod, Erica reached for the inside of her jacket, Ben tensing when the police officers raised their guard. 

“Permission to step forward, sir.” Erica responded, her jaw working at having to give superiority to someone else. The negotiator responded with an affirmative. Ben shivered in the cold air, no longer warmed by the drink they had taken inside. Looking over, it seemed that Zoe and ‘Reeves’ were surveying the area. He followed their lead. 

They were on a cul-de-sac, only a few blocks away from the university dorms. The ground they were standing on was laid over with bricks, and the cheery lights from the neighboring stores betraying the tense mood. There were old fashioned lamp posts that spawned from small flower pots that were blanketed in white snow. 

Reeves. Where did he know that name? Ben thought back. The note from earlier this morning! He’d worry about that later. Turning his attention back to Erica, he saw her in ardent conversation with the negotiator. Finally, after what seemed like a life time, the guns were lowered on them and they were escorted away. 

“Who are you people?!” Ben stage whispered, trying to remain quiet, but the sound echoed around the back of the ambulance that was speeding to the nearest hospital. Reeves had been avoiding conversation and eye contact, sourly remaining at Zoe’s side, refusing his attempts. Zoe stubbornly refused to meet his eyes as well, perhaps feeling guilty. Only Erica challenged his searching stare, and after a minute, he was sure she was the same woman from his apartment who claimed to be part of the CIA.

“We have met before, but allow me to reintroduce myself.” Erica extended her hand. “My name is Agent Erica Hale. We’re with the CIA. These are my colleagues, Agents Zoe Zibell and Warren Reeves.” 

Zoe was definitely avoiding his eyes then. He didn’t recall her last name, but he was almost positive that she hadn’t said Zibell when he had met her for the first time. However, any pent up confusion or anger was merely let out with a singular raised eyebrow and smirk. 

“I see.” He replied, turning to look out the window. “And why are you interested in lil’ ol’ me?” 

He needed information. There was a variable missing in this equation and he was determined to solve it. He had known Zoe for about a year and a half, but it was possible that they had been looking into him earlier than that. The incident with Erica had happened only two days prior, but he now recalled seeing her and Warren in the cafe regularly. Warren’s name had shown up on his online roster as well, and he remembered why he wrote the message. 

“Ben-” Zoe still didn’t have any words. She didn’t need to say anything, because Erica waved her off with one hand. 

“We’re interested in recruiting you.” Erica explained. “Your skill set could be useful to us.”

Ben tilted his head slightly. Clearly his math skills were a factor. In high school, he had begged his parents to be enrolled in a self-defense class, where he had swiftly climbed the ladder. He didn’t have many interesting or particularly advantageous contacts outside of the mathematical field. 

One of Ben and Mike's childhood dreams was to become spies together. Saving the world, thwarting the bad guys, and- in Mike’s case- getting the pretty girls. He had given up on this fantasy years ago, choosing to focus his gift into something he could do in the long run. It was a mundane and repetitive job and, sure, no one would be calling him up over the weekend to have him save the president or infiltrate a gang, but he enjoyed himself. 

“So,” She continued, extending her hand once more. “What do you say about becoming a secret agent?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. I should be updating every Monday or so. Feel free to comment!


End file.
